Atlas woke to his phone vibrating against the nightstand.
Eyes half-open, he reached for it. Glanced at the screen. Noah lay beside him—still asleep, face pressed into the pillow, one arm tucked under his head.
Atlas slipped out of bed. The yacht rocked beneath his feet as he climbed to the deck.
Cold air bit into him. He cleared his throat. Answered.
"Yeah."
Pause. His jaw tightened.
"When?"
Longer pause.
"Three hours?" Voice flat. Controlled. "I'll be there."
He ended the call. Stood at the railing. Waves lapped against the hull—steady, rhythmic. The marina was quiet. Early morning light stretched across the water.
The phone dug into his palm.
He turned. Went back downstairs.
---
Noah hadn't moved. Still on his stomach, breathing slow and even.
Atlas lay down beside him. The mattress barely dipped.
He watched Noah's face. Lashes resting against his cheeks. Lips parted. The morning light caught in his hair—made it look almost gold.
Atlas's hand moved to Noah's back. Traced circles—shoulder blades, spine, the dip at his lower back. His skin was warm. Soft under his fingertips.
He leaned in. Kissed Noah's shoulder. Once. Twice. Let his lips linger the third time—tasted salt and sleep and something uniquely Noah.
Noah stirred. Mumbled something incoherent. His hand batted at Atlas's face—groggy, uncoordinated.
Atlas caught his wrist. Kissed his knuckles. Then his neck.
Noah's breath came out in a confused huff. "Wha—"
Noah's eyes stayed closed, but his mouth curved upward. "It's Sunday." Voice rough with sleep. "Can we just—sleep in a little?"
Atlas's lips moved to the spot just below Noah's ear. Pressed there. His breath warm against Noah's skin.
Noah smiled wider. Turned his head. Eyes still closed. "Morning, handsome."
"Morning." Atlas's hand slid across Noah's chest—steady, territorial. Fingertips dragging lightly.
"What time is it?"
"Nine."
Noah shifted. Rolled toward him. His arm draped over Atlas's waist, drawing himself closer until their bodies were flush. Heat between them. "I can hold on a little longer."
Atlas wrapped both arms around him. Tight. Breathed in the smell of Noah's hair—shampoo and something that was just him. His palm spread across Noah's lower spine. Stopped just above his waistband. Fingers traced the edge.
Noah's breath hitched.
They stayed like that. Breathing synchronized. The yacht rocking. Water sounds muted through the hull.
Noah's fingers traced patterns on Atlas's side. Lazy. Intimate. "This is nice."
"Yeah." Atlas's fingertips continued their path along Noah's waistband—back and forth, slow, deliberate.
Silence settled. Noah's hand relaxed against Atlas's ribs. His breathing deepened.
Atlas spoke. Quietly. "I need to leave. After breakfast."
Noah lifted his head. Studied Atlas's face—the tension around his eyes, the set of his jaw. His expression shifted. Concern flickered across his features. "Everything okay?"
Atlas's expression didn't change. "Just things I need to handle."
Noah searched his face for another moment. Then kissed his cheek—soft, brief. His lips lingered a fraction longer than necessary. "Let's get up then."
"We have time." Atlas's gaze dropped to Noah's mouth. Stayed there. Pupils dilated.
Noah's pulse jumped visibly in his throat. The corner of his mouth lifted. "Yeah?"
Atlas leaned in. Caught the dimple that formed when Noah smiled between his teeth—gentle pressure, then release.
Kissed him. Hard.
Noah responded immediately—his hand fisted in Atlas's hair, dragged him closer, deeper. A small sound escaped the back of his throat.
The kiss turned hungry. Atlas's palm slid down Noah's spine, pressed him flush. Their hips aligned and Noah gasped into his mouth.
Atlas's other hand cupped the back of Noah's neck—territorial, commanding. His fingers found the pulse point there, pressed gently, felt it racing.
When they broke apart, both were breathing heavy. Noah's pupils blown wide. His lips swollen, wet. He cleared his throat. "Shower. We should—yeah. Get ready."
Atlas brushed his finger across Noah's bottom lip. Slow. Felt it still damp from the kiss. Watched Noah's eyes flutter. "You going to surprise me in there?"
Noah pulled back a fraction. Blinked. "What?" His brow furrowed. "What kind of surprise are you expecting?"
Atlas moved closer. Until their noses nearly touched. Gaze locked on Noah's—intense, heated. "Don't make me do all the work."
Heat flooded Noah's face. He looked away—at the wall, the ceiling. Back to Atlas. His breath came faster. Chest rising and falling. "You're the one who—"
He kissed Atlas. Quick. Decisive. Cut off his own words.
Atlas's eyebrows lifted. His mouth opened.
Noah pulled back just enough to see him. His fingers traced Atlas's jaw—feather-light, barely there. "Don't start something you won't finish."
Atlas laughed—low, rough. His stare burned. Predatory. "I'm not forgetting that." He stood, extended a hand to haul Noah up. Winked. "Don't regret it later."
"I'm thinking I just shot myself in the foot." Noah watched him move toward the bathroom, shaking his head.
"Maybe." Atlas glanced over his shoulder. Grin widening. Heat in his gaze. "You coming?"
Noah pushed himself up. "You're very insistent." He crossed to Atlas. "Fine. I'll come. Make you happy."
"Very insistent. Right." Atlas caught his wrist. Drew him close—chest to chest.
Noah wrapped his arms around him. Pressed against his back. Bit his shoulder blade—hard enough to leave a mark, hard enough to make Atlas inhale sharply.
Atlas's hand slid down. Gripped Noah's ass. Squeezed hard. His other hand tangled in Noah's hair, tilted his head back. His voice dropped. "You're going to like my surprise."
Noah looked up at him. Laughed—breathless, anticipatory. His fingers dug into Atlas's shoulder. "We'll see."
Atlas leaned down. Kissed him again—slower this time but deeper. His tongue traced Noah's bottom lip and Noah opened for him immediately.
The kiss lasted longer. Built heat. When Atlas finally pulled back, Noah was flushed down to his chest.
"Shower," Atlas murmured against his mouth. "Now."
They stepped into the shower.
The water shut off. They emerged, towels slung low on their hips. Water dripped from their hair, pooled on the tile. Steam hung thick in the air—clinging to mirrors, to skin.
In the dressing area, Noah stood catching his breath. His chest was still flushed. Hair stuck up in different directions. Water droplets tracked down his spine.
Atlas pulled on boxers. Reached for his jeans.
Noah watched him. The movement of muscle under skin. The line of his back. The way his shoulders shifted. Water still clinging to him, catching light.
Atlas glanced up. Caught him staring. "See something you like?"
Noah's throat worked. His gaze tracked down Atlas's torso, back up. "Maybe."
Atlas crossed to him. Slow. Deliberate. Each step measured. Stopped close enough that Noah had to tilt his head back to meet his eyes.
"Maybe?" Atlas's palm found Noah's hip. His fingers traced the edge of the towel—back and forth, teasing.
Noah's breath caught. His skin felt too hot. "Definitely."
Atlas smiled. Leaned in. Kissed him—slow, deep, unhurried. Like they had all the time in the world. His hand spread across the small of Noah's back, pressing him closer.
Noah's hands came up. Gripped Atlas's shoulders. His nails dug in.
Atlas deepened the kiss. Tilted Noah's head to the angle he wanted. Took his time exploring Noah's mouth—thorough, territorial, marking.
When he pulled back, Noah's eyes were glazed. His grip on Atlas's arms tightened like his knees might give out.
"Get dressed," Atlas murmured against his mouth. His lips brushed Noah's with each word. "Before we don't leave this room."
Noah nodded. Didn't move. His eyes tracked to Atlas's mouth and stayed there.
Atlas kissed his forehead. His temple. The corner of his mouth. Then stepped back—reluctant, controlled. "I mean it."
"Right. Yeah." Noah turned away. He pulled on his joggers. Stumbled. Had to grab the counter.
Atlas was beside him immediately. Hand on his elbow. "You good?"
"Yeah." Noah's face went red. "My legs are just—"
Atlas's grin was wicked. "I know."
"Shut up." But Noah was smiling.
Atlas watched him the whole time. Gaze hungry. The way the fabric stretched across Noah's shoulders. The line of his spine visible through the thin material. The way he moved—unconscious grace.
Noah caught him staring in the mirror. Their eyes met in the reflection.
Atlas didn't look away.
Noah's face went red. He pulled the shirt down. Turned around. "What?"
"Nothing." Atlas's voice came out rougher than intended. He cleared his throat. Pulled on his jeans, buttoned them.
Noah bit his lip. Watched Atlas's hands. "You're staring."
"You're beautiful." Atlas said it like a fact. Simple. Direct.
Noah's breath hitched. He looked down. Smiled. "You're—" He shook his head. Couldn't finish.
Atlas crossed to him. Tilted his chin up with one finger. Kissed him—brief but intense. "Come on. Food."
---
Atlas pulled on a navy sweater. Noah grabbed a cardigan—gray, soft, worn.
They moved to the galley.
Atlas started coffee. The scent filled the small space—rich, bitter. Noah grabbed eggs from the fridge. They worked around each other—practiced, easy. Atlas buttering toast while Noah scrambled eggs with cheese.
Noah reached for a plate. His arm grazed Atlas's chest.
Atlas's palm settled on Noah's hip. Steadied him. Stayed there.
Noah glanced up at him. "Sorry."
"Don't be." Atlas's fingers drew a slow circle on Noah's hip bone through the thin fabric.
Noah's breath went shallow. He looked back at the eggs. Tried to focus. Failed.
"Stop staring," Atlas said without looking up from the pan.
"Can't help it." Noah leaned against the counter. Eyes tracking Atlas's movements—the way his shoulders shifted under the sweater, the line of his back, the way his hands moved with easy competence.
Atlas glanced at him. Held his gaze for a beat too long. Heat flickered in his eyes. Then he looked away. Went back to the eggs.
The air between them felt thick.
Noah bit his lip. Looked down at his coffee. His fingers tapped the mug once, twice.
They plated food in silence. Moved to the deck.
Sun warm on their faces. Breeze cool. Seagulls called overhead, circling. Salt air mixed with the smell of buttered toast and coffee.
Noah sat. Atlas sat beside him—close enough that their thighs pressed together.
Noah watched Atlas over his coffee cup. Steam rose between them. "You sure everything's okay?"
Atlas met his eyes. Nodded once. "Yeah."
He's holding back.
Noah didn't push. Just drank his coffee. Watched Atlas's fingers drum once against his mug, stop. Watched the tension in his jaw.
Noah licked butter off his thumb. Unconscious. Casual.
Atlas's fork stopped halfway to his mouth. He stared.
Noah noticed. "What?"
Atlas set down his fork. His gaze tracked to Noah's mouth. Stayed there. "You have no idea what you do to me."
Noah's face went red. His breath caught. "Atlas—"
"Finish your breakfast." Atlas's voice was low. Controlled. Like he was holding something back. His palm moved to Noah's thigh under the table. Squeezed.
Noah nearly dropped his fork.
They ate in silence after that. But Atlas's hand stayed on Noah's thigh. His fingers traced patterns through the fabric—slow, deliberate, maddening.
Noah could barely taste his food.
---
When they stood to leave, Atlas took Noah's hand. Laced their fingers together. Tight. Like he was staking a claim.
Noah's pulse jumped. He looked at their joined hands, then up at Atlas.
Atlas wasn't looking at him. Just kept walking. But his thumb pressed into the center of Noah's palm in slow, deliberate circles.
Noah's breath went shallow.
They walked through the marina. Past other boats gleaming in morning sun. Past people drinking coffee on their decks, reading newspapers.
Some stared.
A woman with a small poodle slowed her walk. Watched them pass. Didn't look away.
A couple at a café table stopped mid-conversation. The man leaned toward his partner, whispered something.
A teenager with his friend—both did double-takes, leaned close to whisper.
Atlas didn't look at any of them. Just kept walking. His grip on Noah's hand firm. Territorial. His thumb never stopped moving—that slow, maddening circle.
Noah noticed everything. Felt every stare like a physical touch. Tension crept up his shoulders. His free hand flexed at his side, relaxed, flexed again.
Noah's steps slowed. His fingers loosened—just a fraction.
Atlas's grip tightened. Drew him closer.
Noah's breath left him in a rush. His hand squeezed back. Harder.
Let them look.
At the parking lot, Atlas stopped beside Noah's car. Turned him around. Drew him close by the hip—no hesitation, no checking if anyone was watching.
His other hand cupped Noah's jaw.
Kissed him.
Not quick. Not chaste. Full and deep and territorial—like Atlas was declaring something. Like he didn't care who saw.
Noah made a sound low in his throat. His hand came up, fisted in Atlas's sweater, dragged him closer. His other hand slid to Atlas's waist, gripped hard.
Atlas's palm moved to the small of Noah's back. Pressed him flush. The kiss deepened—hungry, staking, almost defiant. His tongue swept into Noah's mouth and Noah opened for him immediately, surrendered to it.
Noah's knees went soft. He leaned into Atlas, let himself be held up.
When they broke apart, both were breathing hard. Noah's lips were swollen, red. His eyes glazed. His chest heaving.
A woman pushing a stroller slowed as she passed. Looked. Looked away quickly. A mix of emotions crossed her face—surprise, something else Noah couldn't read.
Atlas touched Noah's jaw. Brushed his finger over Noah's bottom lip—slow, reverent, staking. Watched it drag across the swollen flesh. His eyes were dark. Certain. "See you tonight."
Noah couldn't form words. His brain felt scrambled. He just nodded. Swallowed hard.
Atlas leaned in. Kissed him again—softer this time but no less commanding. Then pulled back. His stare intent. Territorial. "Tonight."
"Tonight," Noah managed. Voice rough. Wrecked.
What is he walking into?
Atlas got in his car. Started it. Pulled alongside Noah's window. Winked—playful, heated.
Drove away.
---
Noah stood there for a moment. Hand pressed to his mouth. Heart racing. He could still feel Atlas's hands on him. Could still taste him.
He shook himself. Got in his car. Sat there with his hands on the steering wheel. Stared at the exit where Atlas had disappeared.
His phone buzzed on the passenger seat.
Logan: System's down. Critical. Need you ASAP.
Hayden: Servers crashed. Don't know why. Logan's freaking out.
"Shit." Noah grabbed his phone. Typed quickly with fingers that weren't quite steady.
Noah: On my way. 20 minutes.
He pulled out of the parking lot. Too fast. Had to brake hard at the exit.
Traffic light turned red. Noah stopped. His fingers drummed on the wheel. Jaw tight. His other hand went to his mouth—touched his lips, still sensitive. Still bearing Atlas's mark.
Green light. Noah accelerated.
His phone rang. Logan.
"I'm almost there," Noah answered before Logan could speak.
"It's bad. Really bad. All the client data is—I don't know if it's corrupted or if we got hacked or—"
"I'll be there in ten."
"Okay. Okay. Hurry."
Noah hung up. Pressed harder on the gas.
Focus. Deal with this first. Think about Atlas later.
But his mind wouldn't let go. Atlas's hand in his, warm and steady. The kiss in the parking lot—territorial, public, deliberate. The certainty in his eyes. The heat.
He turned onto his street. Slowed. Parked in the driveway.
Sat for a moment. Breathed. Stared at the house.
Got out. Locked the car. Went inside.
Sunny bounded over immediately. Noah crouched down, scratched behind the dog's ears. "Hey, buddy. Miss me?"
Sunny's tail whipped back and forth, his whole body wiggling with joy.
"I missed you too." Noah kissed the top of his head. Stood. His hand went to his mouth again—unconscious. Touched his lips. Smiled despite the chaos ahead. "Come on. We've got work to do."
Right now, there was a system crash to fix.